


The Harrowing

by Khemi



Series: The Corruption of Jake English [2]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: (Demonic forms), Bestiality, Blood and Gore, Demons, Demonstuck, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghosts, Graphic Description, Hurt No Comfort, I have no excuses, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Rough Sex, Sadstuck, Sexual Violence, Shapeshifting, Threesome, Transformation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he made a pact with a devil, Jake's life is going from bad to worse, and all it will take is one little push to send him over the edge into a darkness he's scared will swallow him up entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing Control

**Author's Note:**

> So finally a sequel to The Pact, inspired by [the mighty frog](http://my-friend-the-frog.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  _Shit gets really bad._ Please don't ignore the tags. That is all.

It’s getting worse with every passing day, and you hate it. You _hate_ it. There’s an itch under your skin and you scratch until you bleed but it’s never enough.

When you first brought Jane back, all bloody and broken and cradled in your arms but _alive_ , you were so elated that nothing else seemed to matter, just her and the smiles from John and Jade when they welcomed you both home. They were too happy to ask questions, to stop and think, and for a while you thought everything would be fine, that you’d won and Dirk Strider could go fuck himself on a crucifix now that you had no more need for his help.

Optimism is such a fleeting respite in your line of work.

It was about a week, before you caught John looking at you differently. He thought you were distracted and he was staring, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled in a tight frown. _I was just thinking_ , he’d answered dismissively when you asked, and you’d laughed it off with weak smile, but you knew.

That night Dirk appeared on the stool beside you with your favourite drink in his hand, and you took it, and downed it, and basked in self loathing when he scratched your back across the wall of the alley outside and left dark bites and bruises across your shoulders. You told the others you’d been in a bit of a scuffle, when you limped home the next day. They wanted to tend to your wounds but you saw them off with a smile and an excuse, ignoring the way heat coiled in your stomach when you watched your fingers trace the shape of his teeth in the mirror.

It was just another moment of weakness, that was all. You could cope with this. You were a strong man! He couldn’t get the better of you.

After all, it was _you_ who decided to follow him the next time you all ended up in a fight with his stupid friends. _You_ were the one who told him to be quick and _you_ were the one who kept control over the encounter. _You_ were the one calling the shots. His smile and the way he whispered awful, tempting things in your ear was just him bluffing, just him acting like he had more power than he did!

...The lie barely calmed you down long enough for you to get home and throw up at the thought of what you’d done.

Now it’s always there, an itch, and though you’re seeking him out with terrifying regularity he’s yet to do anything to sate it. You thought you were strong but in the face of the power that keeps drawing you back to him you feel weak, trembling at the feet of a giant that you made strong.

For Jane, you tell yourself, for Jane, but in the dark of quiet nights you toss and turn and feverishly dream of him, and ask yourself is she was really worth it after all.

In a moment of weakness you try to slip out again one Friday eve, but before you can escape unnoticed John is there, his hand on your shoulder with demanding strength.

“Jake, where are you going so late?”

“I’m- Out,” you stutter back in a panic, and his frown deepens, his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen outside of him trying to stare Dirk’s brother down. “I just need some air, John! Nothing to bother yourself with, I assure you! Can’t fault a man some time to cool his jets, right?”

“You’ve been really weird lately. Running off a lot and stuff. Jane’s getting worried about you but she doesn’t want to say anything, man, even though you’re really upsetting her. It’s been like this since you brought her back.” He scrunches up his nose, looking you over uncertainly, and something drops to the pit of your stomach at the suspicion in his gaze. “Did something happen back there?”

“What? No!” You laugh, and you can hear how thin it is, even before his eyes snap back to you with the flames of incredulity burning brighter. “I was shaken up I lost her, but I- I got her back. It’s all alright now! I suppose I’m just a tad ruffled by it all?”

“ _A tad ruffled_ ,” he repeats in disbelief. “Jake you’ve barely been acting like yourself! You keep sneaking out and turning back up with bruises you won’t show us, you keep avoiding us and locking yourself in your room… This isn’t okay.”

“John, I’m fine!”

You pull your shoulder out of his grip and he grabs your hand instead, making you yelp in pain as something he’s wearing catches your skin and makes it sting. He lets go quickly and you grab your own wrist, staring at the small red mark by your knuckle with a pout. John is just looking at you, eyebrows up, and you think you’ve won the conversation before he suddenly shakes his head and grabs your collar, pulling you away from the door and shoving you in the other direction.

“Jake, you aren’t leaving this house until I say so,” he says coldly, firmly, and any thought you have of arguing is doused by the way his fingers stray to the gun on his belt. “Do you understand me?”

“...John, you’re being irrational.”

“This isn’t up for debate.” Your friend curls his lip, shaking his head again. “Just fuck off before I have to make it clearer.”

You hesitate for all of a second and then you do as he says, fidgeting nervously as you leave. Something is terribly wrong, but you can’t quite put your finger on it, even as you rub at the spreading rash he left on the back of your hand.

\---

He doesn’t let you out of your room after that, and you never hear what him and the girls are discussing. You know they lock you in and leave you there, providing you with your meals and nothing else, but you don’t know why. It’s driving you mad, as if your growing appetite for Dirk wasn’t already enough to sap your sanity.

You stare out of the window and wonder how painful the jump would be, then shut the curtains and bury your head in your pillow instead. No! _No_. You won’t give into him and you won’t let all this bizarre malarkey with John get to you either! You’re strong.

You _have_ to be.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you, and it’s broken up by nightmares. You still call them nightmares, even when they heat your skin and make you wake wanting more, because if you admit they’re not- _No_. You  can’t admit they’re not. No matter how many nights you’ve had him in your mind, his hands burning over you and his blood tasting sweet on your tongue, you can’t give in and enjoy it, because if you do that how long will it be before you enjoy it outside your dreams too? How long before he has you completely? Your defiance is all you have left.

Tonight the nightmares aren’t all that disturbs you.

You wake in darkness to a soft tapping on the edge of hearing, the room warped by the shade into something unpleasant, more like the prison it’s become than the home you’ve always seen it as. The covers provide little protection from the cold that bites at you, or from the heat in your loins. They feel paper thin and useless, and when you hear another tap that nags at your sleep-hazed mind, you throw them aside, stumbling to your feet and rubbing your eyes before you fix on the window.

There’s… something there. Something behind the curtains that pulls at you, draws you closer. As you stumble you can’t help but think of passing through swaying meathooks, and though your breath doesn’t pool in the same way you still feel just as cold. You already know what’s a-tapping at your window, and you feel dazed, not even doubting for a moment you’ll let the big bad wolf inside.

You push the curtains open and Dirk’s eyes glow up at you, his mouth stretching into a smile, your fingers fumbling at the lock as you stare numbly back and feel your body spark with heat at the sight of his face. This isn’t what’s meant to happen, this isn’t what you _wanted_ , but the moment you slide the window open you’re pulling him in from where he was perched on the wall like a hunting spider, messily forcing your mouths together and not even resisting when his hand instantly goes for your belt.

You’ve fallen so far and yet you know there’s still so far left to go.

“Nice home you’ve got here,” he whispers against your lips, and you pant lamely back, trying to make him kiss you again. “Gotta say, I’m disappointed. Thought it would take much longer than this for you to invite me in.”

“Shut up,” you whine quietly, trying to ignore the truth in his words, “just shut up and-”

“And what, Jake? And fuck you? I intend to.”

His words shoot to your dick and you groan as he palms you, the slight threat of his talons only making the rush worse. Dirk nips at your lip and laughs breathily, shoving you to the bed and placing a knee between your thighs as he hungrily leans over you.

“Like you could cope without me, slut. You’re so thirsty you make my brother look like he’s chaste.”

“ _You_ did that to me!” You spit it with more anger than you thought you were still capable of, despite the fact your hips rutt up as his hand returns to your shaft. “You messed up my head, I can’t help it, I can’t-!”

“You really _believe_ that, Jake?”

The mockery and terrifying truth are too much for you, your hand whipping up and slapping him hard across the face. He moans in response, soft and wanting, your dick pulsing against his palm as you scratch at his cheeks to try to get him to stop. He curls his tongue up to catch your fingers, the unnatural length still disturbing you, so you hit him again and this time when he moans you take a shuddery breath.

Dirk is the most frustratingly attractive creature you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, and the fact you know he’s going to bruise you and cut you open does little to dampen the fire his moans are lighting in your veins.

“We have to be quiet, they’ll kill you if they-”

“Trying to protect me?” He huffs out a breath that smells of cinders, your chest heaving. “Thought you wanted me dead, Jake.”

“I- I want to be the one that does it.” God, the excuse is so lame even you don’t believe it, and Dirk snorts,pulling your dick freeof your pants and rubbing his thumb slowly over the tip, the tip of his claw slipping just inside your slit with a sensation that is far too pleasurable. You reach up and grab his throat, digging your fingers in to try to choke him, to steal his smug voice and his handsome smile. His groan vibrates through your hands, his tongue pressing out against his lip, lust spiking in his eyes as they flare against the dark.

You hear the zip on his jeans come open and shudder in anticipation, unable to stop the relieved moan that slips from your lips as the scaled belly of his length curls around yours. It pulsates in ways that used to horrify you, but now just bring wave after wave of heat and pleasure, a milking wave that pushes you towards the release you think only he can bring you now. You squeeze his throat and he contracts around your dick, the both of you moaning with one voice that sounds too good together, too in harmony, and not at all like the voices of a hunter and the hunted.

“ _Jake_ ,” he forces out with what little breath he has, and in the muddle of lust you might even be able to convince yourself it sounds loving. You moan his name back, raw emotion mixing with desire, and your fingers have slipped up to his hair to drag him down into a kiss before you’re interrupted by your door being kicked open hard enough to rip the lock off the wall, and something splashes over you that burns where it touches.

Dirk recoils and stumbles back from the bed, hissing loudly and scratching at thin air, and you cry out, rolling and pushing yourself up off the bed to see John framed in the doorway, an empty jug in one hand and his gun in the other. There’s hurt in his eyes as he stares at you, and you try to stammer an excuse but Dirk roars first, a terrifying sound that makes you tremble and pull closer to the side of the bed.

The Demon is behind you, all semblance of humanity gone, claws long and black and skin a terrible patchwork of scales and fur that sit at odd angles to one another. His maw is wide with the horrible sound, jagged teeth and dripping pitch making it a worse sight, and the many eyes that blaze gold and orange across his face all fill you with an awful mix of horror and something more carnal and awful that you instantly shove to the darkest corners of your reeling mind.

John doesn’t tell you to move away, and that’s what pulls your attention back to him. The hatred on his face as he stares at Dirk is the same look he’s had in his eyes the last few days when he looked at you, and the realisation winds you, makes tears sting at your eyes. This was what scared you, that day you stumbled into Dirk’s lair so desperate and trapped. Not what he might do, no, but that they might hate you. That they might see you as something as vile as the monsters you hunt, and all the love that has always kept you going would be gone faster than you gave up your soul.

“John,” you say numbly, and he looks at you with such betrayal and disgust that you can’t take it, ducking your head and fumbling your pants back up just so you have something to do other than cower uselessly. Dirk is growling, a rumbling sound that still somehow pulls you closer, and for a moment somewhere in the well of self hatred within your mind you wonder if his feathers would be soft and warm to hide amongst while all of this blows over.

The sound of John’s safety clicking off reminds you rather sharply that this is not going to blow over.

You didn’t actually expect him to shoot, so the gunshot catches you off-guard, the sound ringing in your ears enough to daze you so much that it takes you a moment to notice the puff of fabric where the shot just missed you. Dirk isn’t so slow, above you in an instant, claws tearing into the mattress as he crouches low above you.

“Let me end it!” John shouts, fury mellowed by the wet edge of him talking through tears. “I can still- He isn’t gone enough-”

Dirk’s roar silences him, and John hiccups angrily, then shoots again, the shot ending with a wet tear and a howl as the Demon recoils, dark blood splattered from his shoulder. The wound smokes and hisses and you don’t know where to look, but it’s all too much, all wrong.

Dirk’s right, you wanted this, but now all you can think is that life won’t be worth living if the Demon is actually gone.

“I’ll let you go if you give me him back,” John says with false bravery, moving warily towards the Demon. “I know the ward on the house makes you weak, I know you can’t fight me, so give me him back and you can leave like this never happened.”

There’s a huffing, hissing sound that you realise is Dirk laughing, and John shakes, fresh tears pouring down his face.

“You already took every chance I had with him, don’t take him as well.” John stumbles a little, but he still has the gun pointed steadily at Dirk, dropping the jug on the bed as he passes. “I just- I just want him back. That’s all I want, _please_.”

You’ve stopped understanding the implications of his words, your gaze trained on the gun instead. Your whole body tenses as John slides a bullet from his back pocket, flicking out the cylinder and pushing it in. Those bullets aren’t warning shots, or meant to wound, those are the ones that you all agreed to only use if you had a kill shot, too precious to be wasted, and your head spins as John flicks it back into place and you realise that if Dirk says no, he intends to make sure he never leaves at all.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re on your feet, swaying in place as your heart pounds in your ears.

“I can’t, _meat_ ,” Dirk rasps, voice barely recognisable. “You were so slow. Maybe if you’d realised sooner he wouldn’t be like this, but now he’s mine and it’s all your fault.”

John’s hands shake and he shakes his head, not seeming aware of you stumbling closer. “I couldn’t- _Liar!_ This isn’t my fault! You made him, I know you did, I know-!”

“Oh, Egbert. Jake came to me willingly. He gave everything up to save poor little Crocker and I didn’t even have to force him.” Dirk laughs, broken by a hiss of pain as his shoulder shifts. “He did this to himself and none of you paid enough attention to save him.”

“I’ll kill you,” John snaps back, finger starting to squeeze. “I’ll kill you, you _son of -_”

He doesn’t finish, because a fist smashes into the side of his skull instead.

It takes you a moment to realise the fist belongs to you.

Before you’ve had time to regret it anger floods you, a screaming voice telling you that he was going to hurt Dirk, he was going to _kill Dirk_ , and you can see nothing but red. The world as you know it distorts, and someone who meant the world to you becomes the monster, your voice leaving you in a roar too like Dirk’s for comfort as you chase John and slam him against the wall, then throw him to the floor, the gun falling from his hand and skidding away.

He rolls and scrambles for it and you fall heavily to your knees against his back, hearing him gasp in pain, then grab his head and slam it hard against the ground. John sobs and screams, fingers grasping desperately for the weapon, so you grab his hand and wrench his arm backwards, ignoring his panicked cry when you thoughtlessly dig your teeth into his wrist.

His fingers twitch and he struggles to shuffle forward despite the pain, managing to get the gun in his other hand. You drop his hand, trying to grab the gun instead, but he manages to buck you off, getting on top of you and slamming the butt of the pistol against your skull. Stars flash in front of your vision, and as you hear him fumbling with the weapon your body works on nothing but feral impulse, John’s scream fading to nothing below the beat of your heart and the wet heat that blooms around your searching, scratching fingers, something slick and soft surrounding them as they claw forward.

The ringing in your ears dulls, slowly, as your fingers still, and you hear a wet gurgle, a cough, and John’s weak voice from somewhere far away.

“Jake… Jake, please…”

The world is still dark, and you realise with an odd sense of disconnect that your eyes are shut, but know that you don’t want to open them.

“J-Jake…”

John coughs and you feel something warm hit your face, the heat around your fingers pumping and pulsing. You can’t stop your fingers as they tighten to grip what they’re buried amongst, pulling back towards you and making him give a weak, wet cry.

“Jake, I don’t- I don’t want to die, please-”

It’s too late, though, isn’t it?

“... _Please_ …”

You open your eyes.

John is above you, the gun still pointed at your face, but his finger isn’t squeezing hard enough to fire it, his face pallid and blood streaming from his mouth. His eyes are dull, tears welling up in them again, and his lips stammer at words he can’t say, forming syllables that never leave him as more than breaths. You look down and feel nothing but empty at the sight of blood and red where you tore him open, flesh and worse held in your clawed hands as his life slowly pours from the hole you made.

“John…” You whisper, and gaze back at his face as his lips twitch in a bizarre, contorted smile at the soft word. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The apology does nothing, means nothing, but he smiles hazily, slowly starting to lower the gun. You grab his wrist and pull it back up, your fingers shaking against his skin. “No, please. John, do it, _please_ , I don’t- want to be this.”

You beg, and he shakes his head, swaying dangerously and starting to tilt forward.

“I’m sorry,” John tells you, the gun falling from his fingers as his forehead presses to yours. “...Was bluffing…” His voice is quieter, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth lightly in what you think was meant to be a kiss. “...Couldn’t… hurt…”

John sighs quite calmly, pressed against you, bleeding out all over your shirt, and then his head tips forward and he doesn’t make another sound.

“John… John, no, please-”

“ _John!_ ”

Jade’s shout hits you a second before Jane starts screaming, and you don’t want to let him go but there are hands pulling him away, feet that kick at your arms when you grasp for a hold on him. He’s gone, he’s _gone_ , and Jade is trying to grab his gun from the ground as she screams _what have you done with Jake_ and you can’t find the words to explain that it’s you, it’s _you_ , just shoot and get it over with, _please_ -

Instead of a bullet, it’s feathers than hit you, a huge wing and clawed arm sweeping around you and dragging you close to a body that’s as warm and soft as you imagined. Jade and Jane are both yelling and sobbing but Dirk’s form quietens them, and even the shattering glass of your window breaking seems muffled and distant. There’s blood - so much blood - and Dirk, and that’s all that’s left in the world.

You fist your hands into your soiled shirt and feel the lingering warmth of John’s life, and then Dirk hits the ground so hard your head whips back, and all is blissfully quiet and dark.


	2. All That Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, what's left, now? Blood is spilled and hope is gone, and Jake English is simply lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Continuing strong themes. Please read the tags.**

“Jake.”

Somewhere on the edge of your awareness, you feel the voice tug at you, rousing you from the dreamless slumber that kept you safe from thoughts of what you’ve done. Dimly, you know you do not want to wake; that this darkness could last forever, and you would be content.

“ _Jake._ ”

You are not so lucky.

The guilt gnaws at you, plucks at what remains of your soul and doesn’t let it settle again. You did something terrible, didn’t you? It eludes you, for the moment- But something happened, something awful, and it was by your hands-

“ _Jake!”_

John calls your name again, and for one blissful instant, you don’t understand why that should concern you.

Then it hits you, and with a gasp, you are dragged up by your collar as you open your eyes.

“ _You murdered me!_ ”

“Oh _Go-_ ” You can’t finish the syllable, it burns in your throat, but the terror is raw and real. The image of John is frozen as he was, and though he is a pale fog of himself, a shadow in this world, the blood that pours down his face and from his ruined belly is just as red as it was when it burned itself into your memory forever. His eyes are empty, sickeningly blank, yet still you feel the intensity with which he is staring you down.

Ghosts were always his specialty, and the irony doesn’t escape you.

_Demons always bond their first blood._

A memory of his voice presents you an answer you don’t want, offered quite placidly and jarring when the same mouth that spoke it is curled in a bloody snarl inches from your eyes. The Damned are meant to take the souls they reap, not leave them to wander, to linger as an inescapable sign of the crime. You, of course, do not know _how_ to do so, being freshly turned as you are.

And you _are_ turned, it seems.

He is the first of many, isn’t he?

The thought makes you sick.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, hollow words to an empty face. “I’m sorry, John.”

His spirit drops you back onto a bed that isn’t yours, vanishing into a frosty breath that quickly slams back together into the same terrible visage, his hands grasping his head. You never meant for this- Never meant for _any_ of this.

You just wanted to _help._

“Well you didn’t!” John snaps, and you blink as you reassure yourself you didn’t say that out loud. “You didn’t help! We got Jane back but we lost you and- and _me,_ and-”

He breaks up again, more violently, with a spray of blood you flinch back from before realising it’s just like mist that quickly fades. John reappears with his hands pulling at his wound like he can close it by tugging the skin together.

“I don’t want to be dead,” he wails, and _oh_ it hurts, deep down and aching in your bones. “I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I just want Dad- I want to stop feeling cold-”

“I’m sorry.” This time, it’s quieter, softer. There’s nothing you can do. He’s really gone, isn’t he? You really killed him.

You really are one of Them.

John told you once that the first few hours are the worst, for the dead. That the cold is biting, awful and choking, and that the sheer human desire for a way to make thing better doesn’t slip away instantly, leaving them desperate to believe this is a nightmare, or something they can easily undo. Those times you chased the Demons off before they had their fill, you would watch him sit with spirits just as fragile and fluid as he is now, listen to him give them apologies and comfort that didn’t matter, until he was ready to send them on no matter if they wanted to go or not.

Could you give him the same relief? You think perhaps you’re too weak for that.

You can’t lose him, selfish as that may be.

“Where are we?” You ask, an attempt to focus him on something new. His outline shivers, but he comes together for you, the blood fading as for a moment he’s hovering there looking like his death was a peaceful one.

“One of their houses. I don’t know which one.” John flickers to and fro about the room, then turns on you. “I fade out if I go too far, I can’t get out of here- can’t get away from _you._ ” The blood splatters down him, but it fades away, wisping off like water on a hot road. “Your precious fucking love kept coming in- this room stinks of him. Isn’t that sweet? He brought you _home,_ Jake, like a pet he found in an alley that he’s going to beg to keep.”

“Shut up.” The truth in the implication stings. Is that where Dirk is? Pleading with his pack to keep you like some stray he’s taken a shine to?

Isn’t that all you are?

“Look at you,” John spits, and he cracks apart, breaks open, gory and red, before the wounds are sealed and he’s grasped a mirror to shove it at you accusingly. “ _Look._ ”

Of course you knew you were changing. You have done longer than you wanted to admit, ever since you woke in the night and realised that John wore a ring of pure silver, that _that_ was what burned you. Since you realised Dirk loved to pet at your ears, to run his tongue across your teeth, and that in the dark you could see a hint of green reflecting on his pale skin.

When you look in the mirror and see it clearly, it feels less shocking than it should.

If anything, it’s a relief to know it’s over, you suppose.

You are a vision of the thing you hated most, teeth sharp when they smile mirthlessly. Your eyes glow brighter as they survey your own face, then meet themselves in the mirror and settle.

“I’m sure Dirk is pleased.” It’s all you can think to say. You don’t want to admit you might find the changes exciting somehow; to admit to the ghost of your greatest crime that you are not as upset as he might want you to be. “He really went to town on me, didn’t he?”

“Demons can’t be made if the soul isn’t willing,” John snaps, leaving no room for your bullshit. You sigh and smile ruefully at him.

“Not going to let me lie to myself, John? That’s terribly rude of you.”

“Apparently my manners died when _the rest of me did_.”

Well. You can’t argue with that.

You reach out and touch the mirror, fingertip tracing the curve of your jaw, and the glass shatters around your finger, a spider-web of dark magic you’re yet to learn to control. It buzzes down your arm, making it tingle _far_ too nicely, you breath catching in your throat.

“It’s trying to catch a soul you don’t have,” John mutters, dropping it on the bed. You’re paying too much attention to your hand to really listen, turning it and bringing it close to inhale the stinging scent that the magic left on your skin. Your ghostly companion growls at that, leaning close. “ _Like_ that, you stupid damned _slut-?_ ”

The red explodes across your vision as you grab him, claws sinking into the same place they tore and using it to drag him close. When you snarl, it is like a beast, and you know your mouth has stretched too wide to pretend it is even remotely human, now.

“Shut your mouth before I feed you to Dirk,” you hiss, the words rising without thought. They’re feral, and it scares you, even as it has your heart pounding with something entirely removed from _fear._ Adrenaline, or whatever you have now, runs rich through your veins, and sets your skin alight where he struggles to vanish and can’t. “I made you, and I will choose when I am sick of you.”

“You aren’t Jake,” he answers, voice trembling with fear you didn’t know the dead can feel. “Not anymore.”

The moment you let go of him, he’s gone, and it’s only when your pulse slows that you realise what you did, what you’ve _become,_ and cover your mouth to hold down the bile that burns your throat.

“Nice, English. Maybe Dirk was right about you.”

You are very aware of the sound of Dave’s voice, smoother than Dirk’s and more often heard as it dropped an endless stream of taunts at you all from the shadows that he likes to hide in. His amusement is as present as always, though it’s breathless, harsh, and this time it isn’t hidden in the dark. Instead he stands in the door, leaning casually against it, lips curved in a cruel smile and his eyes brilliant with a hunger of a sort you haven’t seen in anyone but Dirk.

“Dave.” You rub your throat to soothe the sickness away. The foul taste that usually accompanies Dirk’s brother is absent, at least. In its place is something more alluring, and you realise it’s likely the same thing, but perverted through your corrupted senses into something pleasant.

“ _Jake,_ ” he drawls your name like it’s a filthy word. “Welcome to the family, _Hunter_.”

“Not a Hunter now,” you mutter, and in a flash he’s on you, hand around your neck and his teeth bared in a growl that makes your hair stand on end.

“No? ‘Cause you did a fucking _great_ job of killing _my prey_.” Dave tightens his grip, making you choke and wheeze as you claw at his hand, lights blinking around your vision. “John was _mine,_ and I dont give a _shit_ if you’re Dirk’s fuckbuddy or not, you _don’t_ get away with killing _my_ toy.”

The smell of him is stronger now, and you eyelids flutter as it creeps under your skin, making it harder to get your thoughts to stick in your mind. Every time you try, it's like he peels them away, exposing something more and more raw until all that's left is him and his touch as it loosens.

"Not without giving me something worthwhile back, anyway," Dave grins, the image of him sliding in and out of focus. You grasp for him, to try and keep a grip on reality, but it's hard, so _hard_ -

He forces his way into your mind and doesn't coax you to relax so much as force you, stripping you of the power to fight him, the knowledge you can. You fall back as his fingers slip from button to button on your jeans, and as the zip comes open you feel other fingers pulling at your thoughts, leaving you dizzy with illusory hands grasping at you, mouths kissing at you, hot tongues curling over your skin as you writhe and forget to separate what's real from what's not.

"Come on," Dave coos, gently easing out the heat coiling between your legs. It wetly unfurls, slithers over his palm, and at the sensation of nerves you've never felt before lighting up you moan, slipping easier into the delusions he's planted in your brain. Your length reacts to the non-existent lips and heat that beckon it, pulsing for him as Dave laughs at you, panting and writhing for him as you are.

“Cute. I can see why Dirk likes you.” He starts to rub and your eyes roll back, the start of an attempt to escape his control blown away by the new sensations. “Look at you, all corrupted so quick. Musta been one hell of a fucked up person if you only needed one push… Already filthy as fuck with that scum you used to hang out with. Sure he won’t care if one more person uses what’s already so damn loose-”

The word _no_ has ceased to exist in this moment, and as shadows stroke your mind and caress your body, you can only gasp out pleading mockeries of prayer for _more,_ for _enough,_ all these visions bringing you close but never what you _want._ They are the embers and you need the flames, grasping his arms to drag him closer so he can satisfy you.

“You _reek_ of denial,” he croons when he brings his head close to your neck, inhaling as your hear his belt come apart. “Couldn’t take it, Jake? Aw, it’s okay. You’ve got _forever_ to deal with it, now.”

His words wash over you, barely heard and incomprehensible to your addled mind, and all that really matters is the bare skin that presses to you, the heat that meets yours and blurs into one with it, a throbbing mess of pleasure so blinding it takes no more control to stop you thinking. If this is the reward for your sins, then _oh,_ you will sin a thousand times more-

If this is all you ever think or feel again, your crooked mind would not be left wanting.

Dave’s breath tastes of cinnamon and ashes when he kisses you, and he whispers that you taste like blood and blade. As your talons dig into his back he groans and bites your lip, your neck, your collar, tearing your shirt apart and leaving you bare to his touches and wants in body and mind together.

In the heat of it all, he snatches at something in your mind, growling with lust and envy. Before your fractured focus can begin to search for what it is, he has your throat again, whispering roughly in your ear.

“John is _mine,_ you piece of shit. I _want_ him.”

Another time you would refuse, you would deny him that and keep what small splinter of your friend remains, but here and now Dave’s thoughts are yours, his desires your _needs_ , and your guilt is washed away in the orgasm he allows you the moment your mental grip upon John’s spirit unravels, and Dave digs his claws into it instead.

His hand is blackened, crackling with blue, and he laughs wildly before he digs his teeth into your neck, his length twisting like a strangle-vine around your own and filling you with nothing but forsaken delight.

“Oh yes, _hell_ yes, you’re all mine now, Johnny boy, time to pay your devil his due.” He clenches his fist and you think you hear a distant scream, but nothing matters but Dave, Dave over you and around you and knotted around your mind. “You’re a good little boy, ain’t you, English? Well we always need new bitches to keep the trash in line.”

As his black touch oozes through you, his words slip into the slick and oh- _oh-_ you want to be that for him, want to be _just_ what _he_ wants-

Then your head has broken the surface of the oil, and you gasp for air as Dave is out of you, off of you, replaced by a roar and the dust of shattered bricks and mortar. For a moment all you can do is spasm, choke, fight to arrange the thoughts that spilled back into you all at once, but as soon as you hear a second roar you scramble up, staring at the hole where a wall used to be and feeling panic tighten in your chest as you watch the mess of feathers and fur beyond it roll and slash, claws and teeth flashing as Dirk - you _hate_ that you know him instantly, even like _this_ \- and Dave slash at each other, hissing and spitting as they snarl and strike blow that have black blood splattering across the walls and pooling on the floor.

You should really leave, get out while they’re distracted, but no sooner have you stumbled from the bed and started to trip over yourself in the rush than Dave lunges for you, teeth bared. Dirk slams him to the ground and clamps teeth to his brother’s jugular, but Dave’s hand is sparking again, the claws flashing blue as they split the wooden boards of the floor, your mind barely recalling what that means before the air itself has seized you and slammed you to the ceiling, trapping you there with limbs spread.

John flashes and tears and then comes together below you, curled up on himself and tearing at his hair.

“ _Get him out get him out get him out-_ ”

It’s all too much, _too much,_ and you want it to stop, screwing up your eyes to block out the sights even as the begging and the roars of the beasts below pierce your ears and leave you deafened. Everything is blazing like a dying star, and any second it will all collapse, implode in on itself and destroy whatever’s left-!

You scream.

You _scream,_ and your lungs ache as it bursts forth, resonating through the concrete and shattering glass. The plaster around you cracks and flakes, the Demons below falling apart to claw at their own ears instead as your pain and fear escape in a sound that was surely never meant to be heard. If they can roar of anger and hate, then you can screech of your sorrow and terror, and let the weaker man outdo the strong in their moment of rageful pride.

The noise only ends when you are dropped, landing painfully on the ground and trembling, whimpering, coughing up blood from where you shred your own throat. For a moment, John is there, looking awake and reaching for you, before he is torn apart by Dirk’s claws ripping through him, and fades away while the Demon strides to you, changing form until it is a human face that stares at you with shock and some twisted amount of joy.

“That was…” He wets his lips, smearing the blood on them, before smiling and exposing bloody fangs that shouldn’t excite you as much as they do. “... _Impressive,_ Jake.”

Your heart skips a beat.

You force the satisfaction away.

Dirk kneels and offers you his hand, and you take it, even though your fingers tremble. For all this is his fault, all you can think of is that he saved you, at the house. They were going to kill you, John and then Jade- but Dirk saved you, didn’t he?

You don’t know how to feel about that.

You don’t know how you feel about _him._

“You okay?” Dirk asks, and you’d think he was making fun of you if his gaze didn’t dart across you, from wound to healing wound, his voice far softer than it should be allowed to be. You tighten your grip on his hand and pull closer, and when he takes your waist the truth slips out before you have the sense of mind to stop it.

“I- I am now.”

His eyes lock on yours instantly, and for a moment everything is silent, and still. For the first time you let yourself _see_ the way he looks at you, pick it apart and see everything within it, and realise your lies about wanting him dead were just as empty as the lies he told you in return. His lips part, his tongue finishing cleaning his teeth with a flick, and you hold fast to him, because you _do_ know how you feel, about Dirk. You have for quite a while.

“Well isn’t this a sweet little reunion,” Dave mutters, and the moment is gone, the other Demon cracking his neck back into place as he dusts the rubble off himself. “Thanks for the present, _champ._ ”

His hand flashes, jerks like it’s holding a leash, and John briefly appears with the pull. The ghost is gone once more as the light fades, and Dave smiles patiently. “But that don’t get rid of all your dues. He killed my sworn, Dirk.” Dave’s gaze flicks to his brother, whose hand is possessive around your own. “Think just ‘cause he likes making goo-goo eyes at you I’m gonna let it slide?”

“No,” Dirk spits it, pulling you a hair closer. “But you are _never_ touching him again without permission.”

“Aw, gonna make me beg to use your pet, bro?”

Dirk’s grip is tight, his face dark, and John’s words from before echo in your mind. _Just a pet he found in an alley._ Dave’s laugh is bitter as it eats at your confidence. _We can always use another bitch._

“No.” Dirk looks up, and you falter, Dave’s smile wicked and broad. He’s not even going to make Dave ask? He’s just going to hand you over?

Dirk stares Dave down.

“I’m going to make you ask _him._ ”

“What?” You and Dave speak at the same time, but Dirk is silent, his jaw set and his eyes cold. Your mind hasn’t stopped reeling by the time Dave realises he isn’t joking, snarling in frustration.

“You’re making me ask _that_ worthless _shit._ ” His red eyes flare as they turn towards you, and you curl into Dirk’s touch instinctively. “He _owes me,_ Dirk. If you want me to treat him like one of us, _here I am._ You _know_ our rules.”

“ _Ask him,_ ” is all Dirk answers, gritting his teeth.

You’ve fought Dave many times, in many places, but you have never seen him look as furious as he does now. His form is clearly shuddering, coming apart, his rage making it hard to maintain, and when he manages to speak it’s barely even passable as a human tongue.

“ _Will you pay your debt?_ ”

You draw in shaky breaths, unable to look away from him, the idea you’re in control of the answer seeming ridiculous after all you’ve been through. But Dave isn’t moving forward, is he? Dirk is hissing a warning. You really are being asked, no games to it.

“Stay out of my head,” you answer at last, gathering what resolve remains in you. “And Dirk- I want Dirk. Agree to that and I’ll- I’ll let you.”

Dave snaps his jaw and his head twitches, but he nods, the motion jerky and unnatural. His hands spasm, open and close as his fingers turn to talons turn to monstrous claws and back, and as he moves for you it’s like his seams have come apart, the disguise torn through by his spreading wings and his muscles as they bulge under spreading fur. Dirk grabs you, turns you towards him, and as you’re both shoved to the ground you wrap your hands into his shirt and cling for dear life, not wanting to think about the beast that’s over you, teeth tearing apart what clothing remained clinging to your trembling thighs.

“Just look at me,” Dirk whispers, cupping your cheek. “Just keep looking at me.”

You do, and you wonder how long you’ve thought he was beautiful. There are tears in your eyes as rough claws scratch at your legs and force them apart, so you screw your eyes shut and bury your head to Dirk’s shoulder, tensing as Dave’s heat smears its way across you and begins to force you open.

The scream sticks in your throat, and Dirk’s arms curl around you, far too soft. You feel his length tense against the pants beneath you, and when it slips out and starts to stroke you, you’re thankful that it lessens the pain, that it at least brings an edge of pleasure.

“I could’ve made it feel good,” Dave growls, forcing deeper- _deeper-_ “I could’ve made you _love_ it.”

“Sh-shut up and just get it over with,” your voice is so strained, your body feeling like it’s tearing in two around him. He shoves forward, sharply, and you regret your words, crying out and whimpering as Dirk snarls a warning over your head. They both tug at your attention, at your body, your hips canting forward into the sweet grip Dirk has around you before they’re forced to take more of Dave, more of the pain that’s dulling how good this could’ve been if only you’d given in like Dave said-

But you don’t _want_ to love this, to love him.

You need this to hurt, so it can keep you _sane_.

The pool of heat that joins your hips to Dirk squirms and falters, despite his best attempts. Even that sweetness can’t lessen the punishment you’re taking, your vision swimming with tears when you open your eyes again. He already _has_ John, why isn’t that enough? Why wasn’t before enough?

When Dave fills you, it’s without care, and he pulls out to spills black over your legs as you twitch and shudder from the sensation of his come spilling out of you. You gasp and choke down sobs, flinching sharply away when he pats your head, form stable and unassumingly human once more.

“Good boy,” he grins, lazily swaying towards the door. “I’m gonna give you time to clean up before our guests arrive. Make sure you’re dressed for the occasion, bitch.”

The door slams, and Dirk holds you to his chest, still working you gently to ease you through the spasms that force the rest of Dave’s black remnants from you, and leave you shuddering, stretched and empty.

“I won’t let him touch you again,” Dirk murmurs into your hair, and you think it’s meant to be a comfort. It just reminds you that he wasn’t here to stop Dave before, and there will be other times he isn’t there to protect you.

“Is he even capable of… of love or-?” You mutter it mostly to yourself, but Dirk answers, plainly.

“No. None of us are anymore.”

It pierces your heart in a way you didn’t want it to, and you look up to him with hurt clear on your face. He tenses, but shows no other sign of care in his expression as he shrugs. “Sometimes I think I would like to be. You met me too late in my life.”

“Will I forget how?” Dirk nods, quietly, and you splutter a laugh. “Well I suppose it’ll hurt less, then.”

He doesn’t stop you when you get up on shaking legs, stumbling back towards the bed that’s framed by the hole they smashed through the wall. By the time you sit on the edge of it, Dirk is gone, and you haven’t a clue where to. It doesn’t matter, you suppose. He’ll be back for you.

He does own you, after all.

“So… I guess this is it,” John mumbles beside you, and you don’t look at him. You aren’t sure you can. “This is our lives- or whatever they are, now.”

“Yes,” you answer softly. “I guess it is.”

You sit in silence as you polish your glasses on the sheets, and wonder where you’ll get clothes. It almost makes you laugh when they form on you, oozing out of you like some vile sap. Of course. This body is only an illusion now, isn’t it? One day you’ll slip up and you’ll see what you’re really like, see one of those monsters in the mirror and know that it’s you.

“Dave says he’s in love with me,” John sighs, “and I know he’s lying, but it’s like it doesn’t matter when I’m listening. I’m- I’m dead-” His voice breaks. “He shouldn’t be able to do this to me anymore.”

“If you ask he’ll make you forget it’s a lie.”

You feel the icy cut of him fracturing, and when he forms back together he laughs so softly it’s barely a breath.

“I guess I will, eventually. He keeps reminding me he’s got eternity to convince me.”

“I’m sorry, John,” you say, a broken record with no better tracks to play. You look at him and he smiles, and you realise quite suddenly you’ll probably never see him again.

“I know,” is the last thing he tells you, and then with a black flash in his eyes he breaks into frost and a sigh, summoned back by the creature you surrendered him to. This time you feel no sorrow, no guilt; just emptiness, a void in your chest, and a finality you can’t escape.

You’d cry, but you don’t think you have any tears left, honestly. You don’t think you have much of anything left at all.

When the door is opened you look up dully, expecting Dave come to mock you, or Dirk come to collect you. Instead the Sisters peer at you, observe you like you’re on display in a zoo, and then share a long glance.

“Your… friends are here,” Rose smiles, cold and quiet. “We would very much like you to kill them.”

“That, or we’re gonna, so,” Roxy rocks back on her heels and grins at you, flashing her fangs. “Dave thought you’d like to get the _honour._ ”

Of course he did.

“Give me a minute,” you answer mutedly, and when they hesitate you growl, anger flashing in your blood. “ _What?_ Where the _fuck else_ am I going to go? _Get out and let me breathe._ ”

They do, that same glimmer of surprise in their eyes, and you pant as you try to swallow back down the fire that threatens to have you seeing red again. If that bloodlust takes you, there’ll be nothing you can do, not until you wake up bloody and bent to the whims of those who’d be your masters if given the chance.

You’re a mess. Everything is broken now, all of what you had-

You just wanted to _help._

“Jake?”

You look up at Dirk and he looks back, slipping forward and reaching for you. You take his hands, kissing the backs of them and wondering why even after all of this, it’s still so hard to hate him.

“What are you going to do?”

“It sounds like my decision was made,” you answer dryly, but his face doesn’t change, his grip just as firm.

“What are _you_ going to _do_?” He repeats, and once more you realise he’s actually giving you a choice.

“What can I do? There’s nothing… If I don’t go and kill them, they said-”

“The terms of our contract were that I’d help you protect your friends,” Dirk says slowly, dropping his voice as though someone might be listening. He stares at you as though trying to tell you something with his gaze alone, his fingers tightening. “What are you going to do?”

You blink rapidly at him, and understand what he’s telling you.

Whatever you choose, you don’t walk that road alone.

You are Jake English, once a Hunter, now one of the hunted, and with your direction lost, all manner of paths have been opened.

“...We’re going to kill them all,” you tell Dirk roughly, and he doesn’t have to ask who.

You might be damned, but you’re damned on _your_ terms. Those who mocked you will learn that lesson in the worst of ways.

Your sire smiles at you, and Hell, he’s _beautiful,_ and you’ll love him until your heart goes dry.

“When do we start?” He asks you, and your laugh is all the answer he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. The end(?)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed - if that's the right word - this trip into hell, and thank you for reading. I'm currently [taking prompts](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask) on [my tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/), and if you'd like to see me write more of this world, or anything else at all, please do come drop me a line!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, cherubs. I hope to see you again in the notes another time.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday, Chofi! (^8 I hope you enjoyed the pain.


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